


Lemuria

by Romanumeternal



Series: Olia and Quintus [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Slavery, F/M, Non-Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 21:21:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16048796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romanumeternal/pseuds/Romanumeternal
Summary: Quintus, as a model citizen of the People's Republic of Rome, doesn't believe in evil spirits, demons, gods or anything else.Shame some of his slaves do and, on the Black Night of Lemuria, when the unquiet and hungry dead are said to stalk the Earth, they need all the reassurance they can get.





	Lemuria

Quintus had just placed the foul tasting pill behind his teeth, and was preparing to gulp some water to wash it down, when the jet flew overhead; an ear splitting, deafening screech; followed by a boom that seemed to send every cell in his body vibrating. Startled, he dropped the glass onto the carpet and half swallowed the pill. He gasped and gagged as it stuck in his throat, his own saliva tasting unnaturally bitter. Eventually, he managed to cough it up, and reswallow it, with some hacking, retching sounds he was truly glad that no one else was around to hear.

 

"Bloody Lemuria" he muttered. Lemuria was, of course, the time when the spirits of the evil dead waxed most strongly. As such, the only logical solution was to throw riotous parties, have gigantic firework displays, make as much noise as possible, throw beans into every nook and cranny, and dress in grotesque costumes, all of which, it went without saying, served to inevitably drive the Lemures cackling and gibbering, back to their tombs.

That was the theory, anyway. These days, Quintus reflected, no educated citizen - or even, he mentally added, in deference to Olia - sensible slave, or rational foreigner (not that there were many of those) believed in demons, ghosts, spirits, gods, witches, and all the other detritus of a superstitious past deservedly swept into the ash heap of history. Nowadays, it was the excuse to get drunk, hold a carnival whilst dressing up in a silly mask, and, in the case of the People's Aerial Legions, conduct low , night flying exercises, to the by and large patriotic enthusiasm of the partying, albeit somewhat deafened, citizenry. Quintus, who found planes rather interesting, nevertheless had little interest in costumes and less in riotous parties.

"Olia!" he yelled, then cursed as he remembered that his girlfriend was with most of the rest of the household in town, where his father, would symbolically hurl a fistful of beans into the air, right at the stroke of midnight, as the massed crowds shouted their approval and waved blazing torches. 

 

Not girlfriend, he reminded himself. Olia wasn't his girlfriend, because citizens like him didn't have those sort of relationships with slaves. Admittedly, he was very fond of her, and reckoned Olia was fond of him. Admittedly, he would sooner remove his good right arm than hurt her. Admittedly, he enjoyed her company, and was grateful beyond measure, not to mention utterly confused, that she apparently enjoyed his too. Admittedly, whilst most of his friends had slept with slaves, he was more or less certain Olia was one of the few who was wholly willing.

He shook his head, not wanting to pursue that train of thought. If she had been lying to him, and hating every moment of it as he forced, he knew, his not especially attractive body - all skin and bones and twitching limbs - against her beautiful, slender form - well, he'd hate her for that, and hate himself a thousand times more.

 

He swallowed again, wincing at the taste. It appeared that his whole mouth was coated in the substance that had covered the pill. He sniffed, and decided that something other than water would be required to get the awful, dry taste out of his mouth. He stood up; for a moment swayed as his trembling legs struggled to find their balance, and then headed towards the button on the opposite side of his room that would summon a slave. He pressed it, and then, aware that the shaking in his left leg was getting worse, lowered himself into a nearby chair, before he collapsed on a sprawled heap on the floor. Sometimes, he vaguely thought about a wheelchair, but he was damned if he was going to be that dependent. Besides, hadn't Romulus Himself said that the greatest battle a man could fight was against his own weakness?

His lips quirked at that. That was probably something Romulus had only said during Romulus - The Untold Tales. The none-animated, real Romulus would probably have condemned him as a weakling and exposed him to die. But still, just because Romulus probably never did actually say that didn't mean it wasn't a good maxim. Being a cripple was something he couldn't help, being a weakling was. He looked irritably at his trembling leg. Maybe, he thought, maybe it was time to see exactly how good the newest artificial legs were.

He frowned, listening, as he heard steps come u to his room. He wasn't alone, then. Not, of course, he told himself, that he'd have been slightly scared, knowing that he was the only person in the entire mansion, a vulnerable cripple, jumping every time the wind howled or a branch scraped against a window on the Black Night of Lemuria. But he was, he admitted to himself, grateful he wasn't utterly alone on such a night, even if there were no such things as Lemures.

 

"Yes, dominus?" said Lukaminka, with an edge of annoyance, perhaps, in her tone. Seeing her, Quintus recalled that Luka, probably having lost a bet or annoyed Sia, had been tasked with staying at the house until the celebrations were over, which had to have grated somewhat on the extroverted, busty maid. 

Quintus looked at her, slightly irritably. He wasn't his sister, and was pretty sure the slaves laughed about him behind his back. But it would be nice if Lukaminka injected at least some respect into her tone when actually speaking to him.

 

"Wine" he said, shortly. "No, actually. Cranberry juice would be fine."

 

"Of course, dominus" she said. She looked out of the window. "Foul night, isn't it? I do hope your father isn't getting soaked."

 

Quintus blinked. "Luka, I asked for juice, not a conversation."

 

Luka frowned, bit her lip, and then hung her head.

 

"Apologies, dominus." She opened her mouth, as if to say something else, but a glare from Quintus made her close it again. He never could understand why Lukaminka was so talkative, especially around her superiors. She could be so dim talking to her gave him a headache and it wasn't as if the conversation of any slave, excluding Olia, was generally interesting.

 

"Oh" he said. "Bring up some toast, as well. Butter and cheese."He shook his dead, dismissing Luka, and blinked, and the lens implanted in his eye was activated. With practised movements of his pupil, he selected the TV listing for tonight, and grinned. It was Lemuria, so of course they'd have some cheap horror movie on. In this case, the old 'classic' I know what you did last Ceralia, which was perhaps moderately creepy the first time you saw it, and hysterically funny on subsequent viewings, as a group of rich, idle nobles were pursued and variously burned, stabbed, decapitated, impaled, shredded, throttled with their own intestines and skinned alive by the vengeful spirit of a slavegirl (who, as it turned out, was descended from a powerful sorcerer) they'd brought and then sacrificed during a perverted orgy on an abandoned temple in a joking attempt to summon up an ancient demon.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Lukaminka was still hovering, looking slightly nervous.

 

"Juice and cheese and toast" he said, in case she'd forgotten.

 

"Dominus, can I ask a question?"

 

"Is it about my juice?" asked Quintus. "Or what sort of cheese?"

 

"It's more, about...well, Lemuria" said Lukaminka, looking more uncomfortable by the second as Quintus looked at her. Julia, he was pretty sure, would have struck the girl by now.

 

"No."

 

"No what, dominus? I was going to ask, are you doing the ritual tonight?"

 

"I meant, no, you can't ask me a question" said Quintus. "But you outflanked me on that."

"I mean, it is Leuria..." said Luka, trailing off slightly as Quintus closed his eyes, counted to ten, and reminded himself that Olia might well be upset with him if he slapped Luka across the face. "And, your father's out."

"Oh. I see. The old ritual. Running around through the house throwing beans everywhere and clanging pots and shouting 'Spirits of my ancestors, I hereby serve you an eviction notice.' Because ghosts hate beans, or...something."

 

"Which is always done by the paterfamilias" said Lukaminka, primly, as though stating the obvious and ignoring Quintus' sardonic tone.

 

"But we never do it" said Quintus. "Normally, the whole family just goes to the public celebration, where Father makes his election speech - sorry, I meant performs the age old ritual."

"But then that's fine" said Luka, earnestly. "You don't actually have to do it in your house, do you? But you have to have at least done the ritual. Otherwise, you'll be followed by bad luck for the rest of the year"

 

"You don't have to do it at all" said Quintus, tiredly. "It's one of those silly superstitions. No one believes in it."

 

"No..." said Lukaminka, trailing off, looking at her feet miserably. Quintus snorted in amusement.

 

"Romulus above, you actually do? Romulus above, you idiot. Dark spirits and Lemures? What next? Cerebus messing up the front lawn? Ahura Mazda condemming Lincinius to the flame eternal because he once ran over a hedgehog?" He winced slightly, as a crick appeared in his neck. Massaging it away with one hand, he snapped his fingers with the other. "Right. Enough bloody talk. Hop to it."

Lukaminka looked as though she was about to say something, but one look at Quintus's face evidently persuaded her otherwise. She slunk off, as Quintus shook his head, mildly amazed that she could be that stupid. That said, of course, she worshipped the Nailed Jew, so idiocy was probably to be expected. He wasn't sure, offhand, what that ridiculous religion said about Lemures, but he guessed if you accepted one article of faith you could accept anything. He was pretty sure there were a group of Hindus who worshipped Romulus as an avatar of Krishnu, or something. Vaguely, he wondered why Lukaminka had been so insistent - way past the point of insolence, really.

 

She was back inside five minutes, just as the opening titles of the film were ending. A bright, green car, filled with a variety of exceptionally good looking people, weaved its way through waving green fields of wheat. Next to him, Lukaminka put down some toast, a selection of cheese slices, and a glass of juice. And, he noticed, a bowl. A bowl of black beans.

 

He looked up at her, pausing the film.

"Luka, what are you playing at?"

"It's just.." she shifted, uncomfortably, and then blurted out "you should do the ritual. Dominus."

"It's a slave's job to tell me what I should do, is it?" said Quintus, his voice low and full of warning.

"N-no! Of course not!" she said, twisting her hands nervously. "It's just...I'd be happier if you did."

Quintus sniffed. What had Romulus said? "The happiness of a slave is of no more importance than the bleating of a sheep"? "A slave should find pleasure in his owner's pleasure; outside of that he should have no preferances"? Why on Earth he should interrupt his film to even answer Luka's point was beyond him. She was a slave, and she should know that her happiness was absolutely immaterial. 

He stopped. Olia was also - technically - a slave, too. But her happiness was important - to him, at any rate. Certainly, the words of Romulus were not applicable to Olia. And, truth be told, Lukaminka was likable enough, although dimmer than a burnt out light bulb. Besides, there was never any point in being completely uncaring, was there?

 

"And why'd you be happier?" he asked, sardonically. Luka's body tensed, and Quintus realised she'd actually been worried for a second. That brought a surge of satisfaction - at least he wasn't utterly disrespected - followed by a surge of guilt. Gods, he didn't want to worry her needlessly. They'd known each other since he was a boy - since before he had become a cripple.

 

"It's just...you know. Its what you do at Lemuria." She smiled at him, almost pleadingly. "I mean, I don't think there's a Lemur lurking in the house, but...well. If it drives out evil, it can't hurt, can it?" She touched the wooden cross she wore around her neck. "I mean, the Cross doesn't prevent all misfortune, but I feel better for wearing it."

 

"But...but its just superstition" said Quintus, becoming somewhat lost. To his way of thinking you either detected something, and it was there, or didn't detect something, and it wasn't. Admittedly, once you got down to the smaller scale that rule broke down a little bit, and logical deduction and calculation took the place of pure observation and experimentation, but, still, it was all based on a simple chain of reasoning. Lukaminka's belief that there were invisible loathsome spirits, and that failure to drive them out would bring misery upon your head, and that this could be achieved by beans was something he couldn't grasp. It offered no toeholds for logic to even cling to. Where did you even start falsifying that?

 

"Maybe, dominus." said Lukaminka, obviously not entirely convinced, but not wanting to openly contradict him either.

 

"It is" he said. He picked up a bean and idly held it between finger and thumb. "Like that cross is...well, just wood."

 

Lukaminka's hand flew to it. She looked somewhat hurt for a moment, and then nodded.

 

"If you say so dominus" she said. "But...but if it all just rubbish, what's the harm?"

 

"I never said there was harm" said Quintus.

 

"Then do it" said Lukaminka. "Please, dominus. I mean, I know you think its stupid, and silly, and you're almost certainly right" she cracked a feeble smile. "You are about most things. But..." she gulped. "I don't know. My family used to do the Lemuria. And then, well, when things got bad...when mum got into the pills and powders and needles...we stopped doing it." She looked down at the carpet. "We didn't do it, and then, well, things got worse. Father went. They kicked us out of our old house - mother had spent all the money on her drugs, by then. And then, she sold herself, to man after man, and when that wasn't enough, she sold me. " Her fingers, absently, scratched the top of her left arm, where Quintus knew most slaves were 'chipped. 

Quintus took a deep breath. Part of him wanted to slap the silly bitch, for spilling out her life story. A larger, better part of him wanted to comfort her - he'd known the story, in a vague kind of way, but her evident misery unsettled him. Another part of him wanted to yell at her. "The whole reason, Luka, why your family didn't do the Lemuria was because doubtless your drugged up mother's life was already out of control. It didn't start because you didn't throw some beans into the air, you just didn't notice the early stages, and missing the Lemuria was the first sign that something was badly wrong. You're confusing correlation and causation. Families that are so fucked up as to sell their own daughters into slavery probably don't celebrate stupid festivals!"

 

He looked at her witheringly, and stood up, looking down at her face. He flicked her under the chin, and she flinched. Lowering her head, she snuffled.

"I - I'm sorry, dominus. I didn't mean to - I forgot my"

 

"Oh, shut up" said Quintus. She shut her mouth like she'd been slapped. "I should probably have Lincinius whip you or something for bugging me"

He picked up another bean, and then, with a grin, threw it into the centre of the room.

 

"Right. Go and get some pans. Remember, they have to be copper."

 

"Copper, dominus?"

 

He ruffled Luka's hair. "Because, you silly, superstitious slave, copper is the best metal to bang to drive out evil spirits. And if I'm going to make a fool of myself to stop you being abducted by gribblies, I'm damn well going to do it right."

 

Lukaminka beamed widely, and then looked shyly at him.

 

"You think I'm stupid, don't you, Dominus? For wanting this?"

 

He grinned cheerfully and smacked her on the back of the head.

 

"Definitely. But, as you say, it couldn't hurt."

**Author's Note:**

> Christianity, obviously, never became as popular as it did in this timeline, but its still quite popular, especially amongst the lower orders. Its retained elements of Gnosticism, and is far more 'varied' theologically than our version (what with no powerful Churches, Popes, Patriarchs or Emperors to effectively purge heretics). 
> 
> Atheism, or at least agnosticism, is popular amongst free citizens, and strong religious expressions are strongly discouraged. The worship of the old gods of Rome (Jupiter, Mars, Minerva) is now more or less faded, few Romans still believing in them as actual entities, though sometimes they are invoked as aspects of a singular, somewhat unknowable God and are frequently used in everyday conversation. The worship of Sol Invictus is popular amongst the elite, particularly in the military . Another faith popular amongst Romans is 'Romano-Buddhism', which sees Romulus as one of the Enlightened Teachers of Mankind. 
> 
> Hinduism, blending into various pantheistic religions, is quite common as well, especially in the eastern provinces, whilst the Zoroastrian Church is the second most powerful religious organisation in the world, being the state religion of the Roman client state Khorosharan, and relatively popular amongst the middle classes. Judaism is officially tolerated, but regarded with some suspicion. The Volkish religion, perhaps best rendered in Latin as 'Revealed Doctrine and Covenant of the Chosen of the Heavens', is illegal, being the state religion of Freisreich, but widely practised underground.


End file.
